April Fool's
by Simone Lyon
Summary: Not your usual April Fool's Day piece. No slash.


_**AGENT KILLED IN MUSEUM SHOOTOUT**_

The headline for the _New York Times_ on the morning of April 1, 2014 had never looked so ominous to Neal Caffrey. He read the newspaper religiously but this time he seized it off the rack as if it were a lifeline. Not even bothering to find somewhere to sit, Neal quickly began reading.

_An F.B.I. stakeout last night ended fatally when the art thief and agent were killed. F.B.I. Special Agent Peter Burke died on the scene from two gunshot wounds to the chest. It was reported that he was the one who fatally shot the art thief, Julian Greene. Special Agent Burke was second-in-command of the White Collar division for the New York City F.B.I. branch. His record has been described as unequivocal. His co-workers said that it was an honor and privilege to work with him. He has also been described as one of the best White Collar agents in the Bureau. _

_ "He'll be greatly missed," said Director Reese Hughes, Special Agent Burke's boss. "Despite being a tenacious agent, he was a great man who cared for people, his team and the Bureau."_

_ Special Agent Burke leaves behind a wife and many friends. There will be a special service held for him tomorrow and a private funeral later in the week._

The article went on to explain the case that the F.B.I. had been working on to lead up to the museum stakeout. But to Neal…that meant nothing. Everything had just changed. He had to go to that service. He had to go to that funeral. He had to pay his respects to the man who had helped him so much. But how to do all that…when the F.B.I. was searching for him to put him behind bars?

()()()()()()

"Moz? Moz, you here?"

Neal walked into the spacious room of Wednesday and looked around. Mozzie was seated at the table, reading the newspaper. When Mozzie turned around, his mouth was half-open, as if about to talk, and with a forlorn expression, the bearer of bad news. But when he saw the newspaper in Neal's hand and the younger man's almost devastated expression, Mozzie knew that Neal knew.

"Neal…man…I'm sorry," he said softly.

Neal just nodded. "Look, I need to go."

"I knew you would say that," said Mozzie, spinning back around.

Neal swiftly walked over and leaned on the table imposingly towards Mozzie. "Moz, please. I'm not asking you to come. I'm asking you to help me plan it out. I need to go to that funeral. I need to at least go to the service."

"The service," asked Mozzie. "Are you kidding? Do you know what that means? That means that the place will be crawling with F.B.I. agents. And all those agents know what you look like. Besides, we don't even know where it's going to be held."

"We'll be able to figure that out," assured Neal. "Just please—will you help me with this?"

Mozzie sighed heavily, knowing he had actually been beaten when Neal had stepped into the room. "Well, I can't exactly let you do this alone. You might miss something and get yourself caught."

"Don't worry," said Neal in a very cynical tone. "The only man who ever caught me isn't around anymore."

"What about the funeral," asked Mozzie. "That will be twice as hard to get in to. If it's private, that means you need an invitation and there's fewer people. You'll be noticed."

"I'll be there," said Neal. "Somehow."

Mozzie took that to be the end of the conversation. Said with that much resolve, Mozzie knew Neal would be there.

()()()()()()

"How could he be dumb enough to even think that," demanded Alex of Mozzie.

They were sitting at a booth in an old coffee shop, Mozzie having decided to entrust the plans of Neal's latest caper-in-progress to Alex. As usual, Alex was being critical. But this time she didn't look she could be moved by any amount of charm, whether that be from Mozzie or Neal.

"He says he knows it's dumb," Mozzie replied in a tired fashion. "But he says he owes it to the Suit."

"That Suit left him to dry by himself," whispered Alex vehemently.

"That's not true Alex," said Mozzie, his tone deadly serious. "The Suit did everything he could for Neal. But in the end, there was nothing more that he could do than what he did."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You weren't there Alex. Peter fought against the proceedings every step of the way. He played every card he had, used anyone he could. But the Bureau—or rather O.P.R—had already decided: Neal was going back to jail and he wasn't coming out for a long time."

Alex sat back in the book, resigned. She let out a tired sigh. "Ok. I believe you. It was just, Neal was almost free. Only a few more months and—and he would've had his life back."

"Sorry to break it to you," said Mozzie. "But it wasn't going to be the old life that he would've gone back to. Neal wanted to stay with Peter. He was going to work for him. I don't know how long, or how it would've ended, but that was what Neal was going to do."

"I knew that," whispered Alex. "I knew that was going to happen. But I just thought—I just wanted things to go back to normal." She smiled. "It was crazy at first—Neal working for Peter. But after awhile, it was perfect. It was where Neal belonged. They really were friends."

"Which is why Neal wants to go," said Mozzie. "It's more than Neal thinking he owes the Suit anything; it's that Neal wants to go say farewell to his friend."

"Owes him," pondered Alex. "What did Peter do when O.P.R. decided to take Neal away?"

_"Yes, sir…yes, sir…right, sir…okay, sir…alright…bye."_

_ Neal and Elizabeth—from the Burke's sofa with Satchmo—watched as Peter set his phone down on the table. He had been pacing since Hughes had called him five minutes ago. It was the longest conversation Neal had ever seen Peter hold on a phone. But for Peter it had been responding without argument. He set the phone down and stood against the table, his back towards his wife and friend. When he turned around, his eyes were hopeless._

_ "It's not over yet," said Peter._

_ Neal sunk into the sofa cushions. "So they're coming to take me in?"_

_ "They want me to take you in," said Peter._

_ Neal closed his eyes…waiting for the jingle of the wrist jewelry to be pulled out. He wouldn't hold it against Peter. He didn't want to get Peter in trouble. _

_ But there was no sound of the handcuffs. Neal opened his eyes and saw Peter still staring at him from the kitchen table._

_ "Peter?" Elizabeth's voice wavered slightly, realizing that something was about to happen._

_ "Run, Neal."_

_ Neal sat up, looking at Peter as if he had grown another head. "What?"_

_ "Run. Get out of here. You'll have at least an hour's head start before they realize something is wrong. Just go."_

_ "Are you crazy? Peter, you could lose your job over this."_

_ "I'll come up with something," said Peter. "They don't know you're here with me. I could say that I went to get you at June's and you were gone. Neal, please…just go."_

_ "I can take my chances with the trial," Neal said earnestly. "Peter, you don't have to do this."_

_ "Yes, I do," said Peter. "I can't take you in. Not now. You're sitting on my couch in my home because I welcome you here. You're my friend and I won't handcuff you just because some new, ambitious agent managed to dig up dirt on you because he thinks you're an infraction to everything the Bureau stands for. But it's not true…the Bureau stands for justice. And this…what they're doing to you…it's not justice. It's injustice. And I won't be a part of it."_

_ He stepped forward a few steps. Neal stood up._

_ "Okay," said Neal. "I'll go. An hour?"_

_ "At least," promised Peter. _

_ Elizabeth stood up beside Neal and hugged him tightly. After a kiss on the forehead she stepped away into her husband's arms. _

_ "Be careful," she said. _

_ "I will be," said Neal. He looked at Peter and raised his wrists. "Last chance."_

_ "Don't tempt me," said Peter with a wry smile. _

_ Neal dropped one hand and opened the other. Peter took it and shook it firmly. "Good luck. And if you don't mind…keep in touch."_

_ Neal smiled. "I will…discreetly." _

_ He stepped past them and bounded out the back door, never looking back._

()()()()()()

"I guess Neal does owe Peter," said Alex. "But Peter wouldn't want him to risk his neck just for a funeral."

Mozzie shrugged his shoulders. "I've tried that card already. Neal doesn't care. Peter caught a lot of heat for Neal's escape. Everyone believed that Peter may have given Neal a head start, but no one could prove it. Still, O.P.R. pulled him off Neal's case and was put on some pretty mediocre cases for awhile."

"So, Neal thinks that it's his fault Peter took all the heat," concluded Alex. She shook her head with disbelief. "You know, for being a conman, Neal sure has a funny thing for responsibilities towards people."

"A tragic flaw," agreed Mozzie.

"Well, let's keep it from being tragic," remarked Alex.

()()()()()()

Elizabeth suddenly sat straight up in the bed, startling Satchmo who lay on Peter's side of the bed. The yellow companion had been sleeping just as fitfully as his mother. Elizabeth hadn't been able to sleep all night, occasionally drifting off into a tired daze, only to find herself wide awake some moments later. But this was different. She was wide awake with a sudden revelation.

"I forgot about Neal," she said aloud, shocked.

She had a problem to fix.

Springing out of bed—and springing Satchmo up in the process—Elizabeth grabbed her phone. Then she paused in the middle of the room. Her phone was not the solution. It was Peter's. Hurrying downstairs with Satchmo at her heels, Elizabeth went to the table where all of Peter's belongings lay. Or what had been on him at…at the time.

Grabbing the phone, she turned it on, losing her patience as she watched it slowly come to life. The little HELLO slid across the screen and Elizabeth wanted to throw the phone on the ground. She normally wasn't so impatient, but this was urgent. She had to find Neal. She had to stop him.

So this was what Peter always felt like: knowing what Neal would do, coming to the terrible realization, and having to race against the conman's time to prevent the outcome.

The phone flickered once more, indicating it was ready to be used. She scrolled down the contacts until…

"Haversham," she whispered in relief.

Hitting dial, she slammed the phone to her ear, mentally urging Mozzie to pick it up asap.

Finally, the other end clicked and Elizabeth was greeted with a tentative voice. "Hello?"

"Mozzie?"

"Mrs. Suit?"

"Yes, Mozzie it's me. Peter's phone was the only way I could contact you."

"Right…are you okay?"

"I'll be okay. But I need to talk to you or your friend." They had all agreed that it was unsafe to say Neal's name over phone.

There was a pause. "He's not here."

"He's not?" Elizabeth looked at the clock. 4:08. "Is he staying somewhere else? I was sure he would be staying with you."

"He found his own place, but I can get him if you need to."

Elizabeth thought quickly. "No, it's too risky. Are you nearby?"

"Your house?"

"Yeah."

"Umm, I can be there in about ten. Are you sure there isn't anything wrong Mrs. Suit? I mean…other than…is there something wrong?"

Elizabeth let out a long sigh. "There's a lot wrong right now, Moz. But I need to talk to you so that I can prevent more from happening. Please, just come here as soon as possible."

"Of course, Elizabeth. I'll be there soon."

They hung up. Elizabeth leaned against the table, suddenly more tired than she had been all night. Satchmo stared at her from the living room. Elizabeth stared back, wishing she had someone else to stare at.

()()()()()()

At a more appropriate time in the morning, Neal woke up. He lay in the bed staring at the ceiling for quite some time before deciding to actually get up. Today was the day. Today was the day he had never thought would come. That he had always prayed would never come. That he would grieve for in the future. That he would wish had never happened. But it was going to happen.

He was going to go pay his respects to his friend.

_Friend_…it was a funny word. So many people say, "I've got a friend" or "A friend of mine" and "Just a friend from". And Neal did it too. He always meant _acquaintance, _but by way of conversational speech, _friend_ came out instead. Besides, the word impacted him little. He had very, very few friends. A friend to him was someone he trusted without a second thought. Someone he believed would do anything for him because he would do anything for them. And he would always want to protect his friends. Protect them from others, themselves, whatever came down the road…Neal would battle it for a friend.

Peter had become a friend.

Peter was dead.

Neal was one friend less.

It was a fact that Neal was battling with; he had yet to come to terms with it. So, leaving the dreadful thoughts lingering on the ceiling, Neal rolled out of bed and started his day.

Fully dressed and preparing to slip into a place filled with people out to get him in order to pay his respects to his friend, Neal had his hand on the doorknob when the door busted opened to reveal Mozzie.

"Moz," asked Neal, confused and concerned. "What's up?"

"You need to come with me," said Mozzie, still breathing heavily.

Neal instantly became annoyed. "Moz, I know you don't want me going, but I am. There's nothing you can say or do that will stop me."

"Actually, there is," replied Mozzie.

Neal shut the door with a touch of vehemence.

"Really? Well, make it quick. I was just leaving."

"I talked to Mrs. Suit."

"You talked to Elizabeth? Why?"

"Actually, she called me," corrected Mozzie. "She knew you were going to do this."

"So she called you to tell me not to go," finished Neal with a sigh. "What, she giving me the same spiel too? All about how it isn't safe or necessary?"

"Actually, yes."

Neal opened the door again. "Sorry, Mozzie, that won't cut it. I have to do this."

"Wait," said Mozzie, before Neal could shut the door. "You haven't heard Elizabeth's reasons for why it's unsafe and unnecessary."

Neal stopped and looked back at Mozzie.

"Fine. What did she have to say?"

()()()()()()

It was nearly midnight, but the occupants of the house were still up, energy pumping from the day's events. They stood in the kitchen, cleaning up after their late-night dinner. While talking, they heard the front door open and shut.

"I bet it's Neal."

"He's not stupid enough to come here."

"I told him to come when he got the chance."

"What? Do you know how risky that is?"

"It's been so long since we've seen him."

"We could've met him somewhere."

"I could always leave if you want."

The occupants of the house—Peter and Elizabeth Burke—turned around to face Neal, who stood in the kitchen doorway. Peter smiled.

"Hi Neal," he said.

"Hi Peter," replied Neal. He took another step into the kitchen. "One question: was it a set-up from the beginning?"

"Yes," replied Peter. "The shootout was a set-up."

Neal nodded slowly. "So: you went and got yourself killed, put it out on the headlines, brought this old criminal who wants to see you dead out into the open, _and then came back to life_, captured the old criminal and put him in jail and you didn't even think to call me to tell me it wasn't real?"

Peter opened his mouth in defense, but found nothing sufficient enough to condone his actions. He closed his mouth quickly.

Neal shook his head in mock disappointment. "You're terrible Peter. You hardly remember your anniversaries and now you couldn't even remember to contact just one more person to let them know that YOUR DEATH WAS FAKE?"

"You're mad," stated Peter with a wry chuckle. He looked around the kitchen, escaping Neal's withering glare. Then, his gaze landed on the newspaper that had the headlines about his death. Snatching it up he threw it into Neal's face in an attempt to alleviate the tension.

"April Fool's Day!"

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, this wasn't meant to have anything related to April Fool's It was just that when I was trying to decided for a date for the newspaper, I put down April 1st just to move on with the plan to come back and fix it. Then, I wrote the ending and liked how it tied together.

Yes, it was a serious piece, and yes there were a lot of empty spaces. I chose to do this because I wanted to focus on relationship and not so much background. I'm still deciding on whether or not I want to commit to writing a multi-chapter story explaining all about why Neal is on the run, why Peter doesn't want to catch him, and how it's supposed to turn out. To tell you the truth, I have no idea how that story would go. This one-shot just popped into my head, and the way it worked was that Neal had to be on the run. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it.

If you were confused, please let me know. One of the things I'm trying to work on is to not be so confusing in my writing.


End file.
